LIZZIE (helplessly). Naething—feyther, stop it. They'll think ye're clean daft.
DAVID (ceasing to howl and speaking with gravity). I ken it fine, Lizzie; an' it's no easy for a man who has been respeckit an' lookit up to a' his life to be thought daft at eighty-three; but the most important thing in life is to get yer ain way. (Resumes wailing.)
LIZZIE (puzzled, to JOHN). Whit's that?
JOHN. It's his philosophy that he was talking aboot.
DAVID (firmly). An' I'm gaein' to tell wee Alexander yon bit story, tho' they think me daft for it.
LIZZIE. But it's no' for his ain guid, feyther. I've telt ye so, but ye wudna listen.
DAVID. I wudna listen, wumman! It was you wudna listen to me when I axed ye whit harm—(Chuckles.—Checking himself) No! I'm no gaein' to hae that ower again. I've gied up arguing wi' women. I'm juist gaein' tae greet loud an' sair till wee Alexander's brought in here to hae his bit story; an' if the neighbors—(Loud squall.)
LIZZIE (aside to JOHN). He's fair daft!
JOHN (aghast). Ye'd no send him to—
LIZZIE (reproachfully). John!